


Battles

by Dominatrix



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, I have no idea how to call that, Rough Sex, dominant!Joan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Sherlock and Joan had rough sex, and one time they had not. (This is a long version of "Rough Encounters").</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Judas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judas/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Rough Encounters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/539657) by [Dominatrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix). 



> Yeah, felt like it. Also, huge cheers to lovely Judas, who asked me to do this.  
> Enjoyed writing this MUCH more than would be healthy. But who cares about heathly, right? ;)

“No! Just keep on…Holy…DAMN!“

Witnessing how Joan watched a baseball game was probably one of the most fascinating things on earth. She cowered on an armchair, her hands thrown over her head in anger and disappointment.  Her lips parted to form a heavy sigh when she reached for the remote to turn the volume down. Her team had lost the third time in a row. How was that possible?

She heard a loud slam against the kitchen wall and rolled her eyes. Sherlock entered the room only several seconds later. She could tell by his breathing pattern that he was irritated. Highly. Her back was turned to him, but she was able to picture him, clenching his teeth to calm him down.

“Idiot”, he hissed lowly.

“Nice talk with your father?” she asked while turning around to face him.

“Like every time.”

“You’re both idiots. Why can’t you just get along? I’m sure the problem isn’t that big.”

He glanced at her, his eyes sparkling with fury and aggression.

“So the game was good?”

 

She made a grimace. He always knew how to provoke her. She stood up slowly, her legs were feeling tingly. She had been sitting for far too long.

“Of course not.”

“Yeah, I guess your team sucks.”

“It does not. It’s good.”

“Then why does it always lose?”

“Don’t try to get me off topic. We were talking about you and your broken relationship to your father.”

“You called this babbling of yours talking? Really?”

She clenched her fists and straightened up. _Calm down, Joan. He’s irritated. You’re too. Just go to sleep._

“I won’t answer that.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

 

She mumbled something which Sherlock couldn’t really understand, but it sounded very unfriendly. With one big step he was right in front of her and pushed her against the wall. “Repeat that”, he said angrily, his glance piercing her eyes. She stared back, but had barely opened her mouth when he had pressed his lips on hers.

Joan wanted to push him back, to yell at him for this attack, but she couldn’t. Firstly because he had squeezed her against the wall and she felt his body pressed against hers with so much force that she could barely breathe. Secondly because she had her arms against his neck without willingly doing so. It was weird, and Joan wanted to say something like _We really shouldn’t be doing this because I like you and because I don’t want to mess it up and we should only work together_.

But all that left her throat was a ridiculously fevered sigh that got lost in Sherlock’s mouth. He was kissing her harshly, she felt herself trying to build up a wall against him, but it was not possible. He was too strong, and too enthusiastic, and she was too weak and far too aroused. And she did not know what brought her to that decision, but she _needed_ this man. Right now.

She tried to undress him seductively, like everybody imagines it to be, but it was more ripping and pulling at his shirt before Sherlock finally understood. He was very slow in these kinds of matter, Joan realized. With a relieved sigh she let the disturbing piece of fabric fall on the floor before she trailed her hands over his body, his back, his rib cage, to the waistband of his jeans. He pushed up her pullover, tasted her hot skin beneath, and sucked at every bit he could get between his lips. She threw her head back, slammed it against the wall, but felt only a little dizzier afterwards. She pressed herself against him, gasping, knowing that there was only one line left that could be crossed.

They crossed it fast, ruthless and hard. Joan’s jeans were pulled down, her bra revealed, her pullover still on. She groaned in Sherlock’s mouth while he thrust in her and clenched his hands in her waist. Her fury just grew, she could feel that, but it meddled with flaming passion and after some time she wasn’t able to separate it from each other.

 

When she reached the top, almost at the same time Sherlock reached it, she bit her lip to keep her scream in her throat. He kissed her one last time, tasted her tongue and lips, before moving backwards.

She did not dare to look at him; she just pulled her pullover down to cover her body and her jeans up.

He was gone when she looked up again.

She did not know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

Anyway, it was impossible for them to talk to each other the next days. Every time they would see each other there were these little glimpses, tiny shreds of memory that embarrassed them. Joan was ashamed and had the impression that she had far too much information now. She knew how he felt, how his touch felt on her skin, how he smelled, how he tasted…

 

How could she ever look at him like she had done before?


	2. Chapter 2

“No! I mean, how could you possibly do something so dumb?”

“Don’t twist the facts. We’re still living, aren’t we?”

“But we could both be dead.”

This was true. They could be dead right now, shot in the head, right between the eyes, or in the chest, which was more probable. Lowers the chance of failing if your hand trembles too much. But they weren’t. Gregson had taken him to the office. He would go straight to prison, Joan was sure. After all he had pointed a gun at Joan and Sherlock, screaming and completely freaking out. His word still echoed in her head. _I will paint the walls. I like red. Don’t you like red, too? I think your blood will look brilliant on these walls._ She had wanted to snuggle against Sherlock, to bury her face at his shoulder. She had seen blood before (wasn’t easy to avoid when you once were a surgeon) but never ever had somebody threatened her to use the inside of her head as paint. It scared the hell out of her, still now. Sherlock had rescued them, again. He had annoyed the kidnapper so much that he had begun to shoot the ceiling. Joan would have shut her mouth afterwards. Sherlock – of course – would not. He had used his missing attention to jump at him and throw him down on the floor, banging his elbow in the face of the man below him to knock him out.

“Are you alright?” he asked while looking at Joan.

“Yes…I think”, she replied slowly.

Gregson and his whole staff showed up about ten minutes later. They arrested the man, read out his rights and took him with them, leaving Joan and Sherlock in the deserted building.

“This was…awesome” was the first thing Joan was able to say when Sherlock had put a cup of coffee in her hands and had led her into the living room.

“But how did you know he didn’t have any bullets left?”

“I didn’t. I had to guess.”

 

 

This was all that happened in a nut shell. Joan stared at him bewildered and oh, she was so _angry_.

“How could a jerk like you have so much luck? I mean, you were playing with our lives, and I don’t want to die right now. I seriously don’t. And don’t you dare to touch me” she yelled when he came a step closer to embrace her. She would have needed that when she was still a hostage, still not knowing whether she would die or survive. But now he just made her furious with his face and his voice and his whole being. Her hand met his face harshly, and the sound ripped the silence apart for a second. She was sorry for doing that - right after, when her hand burned like fire and Sherlock looked at her, completely shocked and overwhelmed -, but then she also wasn’t, because he had risked both of their lives. However, he tried to pull her towards him again, but she used all of the strength she had left to push him away, to make him disappear. She realized in the same second that she actually did not want him to disappear. Instead, she reached out for him, ignored the feeling that this was the worst thing she could do right now, and clenched her fingers in his shirt, pulling him down.

Sherlock was surprised for the first few seconds in which her lips urged against his, undressing him right now. He did not really have a chance, so he gave in eventually. It would be a lie to say that he did not want it; it was a great way to lose stress and aggressions, but he felt that there wouldn’t be any tenderness. She was angry at him, she was right for being; and to be honest, he was a little scared, because he had never been close to a furious “You could have killed us both” Joan.

They managed to get on the floor, and Sherlock was only in his boxers when he lay down. Afterwards, he had no idea how Joan had undressed him so fast. It was a little creepy. But he did not dare to challenge her. When he tried to sit up, turn her around and lay down on her to keep the dominance, she groaned quietly; he could feel the vibration deep in his bones. He tried it nonetheless but wished he had not right after: She was fast, strong and _mean_. But he needed her, he wanted her so bad, and right now, he could have her. The safety about this one aroused him.

 _He could have her._ Right now. In this very moment. He was not able to control his movements, he tried to strip her, like she had stripped him down to underwear, but his hands trembled too much. He wanted to taste her skin again, wanted to feel the warmth and smoothness against his lips and her scent in his nose, making him dizzy and warm inside.

Her blouse lost the fight against his hands; he felt the buttons raining down on him before they sprang in the corners of the room. They were probably lost forever. He did not care, and he was sure she did not either.

They took more time now, but crashed on each other like thunder and lightning. His body would ache afterwards, and so would Joan’s, they would both feel like they had been run over with a truck. But right now there were just two bodies on the floor, intertwined as if they were trying to become one, ripping each other apart while they were letting their feelings go; all the hate and all the anger just came out like a storm, destructive and ruthless.

They didn’t care about the pain they caused each other; actually, they kind of enjoyed the low groans and sighs they heard. Joan mumbled something when Sherlock dug his fingernails deep into her back when he tried to turn her on her back, he wanted at least a little dominance, but she wouldn’t let it happen. She bit his lower lip instead, almost tasted the blood in her own mouth, and swiped her tongue over his lips as if she would have to apologize for that. He was angry, she knew that, but she couldn’t really think. They were too fast, too angry, too rough and too good in what they did. Black light exploded in Joan’s head when she collapsed on top of Sherlock and fell down on him, her chest rising and falling hastily.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody,  
> so this is the third chapter of "Battles", I hope you enjoyed it till now, at least I did :) Sorry for keeping this chapter away for so long. Took a while to write it and had too much to do for school (exams in English and German, but actually it was pretty easy). By the way German's my native language so please don't judge me too hard for spelling mistakes or grammar :)  
> Aaaand I'm so happy right now you can't beliee this. Gonna have an awesome weekend and on Saturday it's my birthday yay ♥  
> So, i hope you enjoy this chap
> 
> Love you all  
> Dominatrix

“No, Sherlock. I am not going to talk about this!”

“Why? This is a totally proper conversation.”

“You’re trying to talk about my sex life.”

He raised his hands in defence. “Your non-existing sex life.”

Joan snorted in shock and anger. “Even the devil has a higher sense of decency than you have. I mean...What’s wrong in your head?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s easy. You look extremely frustrated, but there are no shadows under your eyes. You sleep well, so why should you be so devastated?”

“Maybe because I have an utterly annoying companion” she muttered lowly.

“Well, that would be possible. But I tend to believe that your physical satisfaction is not...satisfying.”

“Sherlock!” She sounded like a teenager trying to get her mother off topic. _Who was this nice guy you’ve talked with?_

“Please...Just stop. I mean...Has Gregson called you? I’m sure he has a new case. Or maybe your father...”

She ran out of possibilities to distract him. One look in his eyes was enough to blow up her hopes. He would never stop. Never ever. He was like a disease sometimes.

“I know that you go on dates. Often. With different guys. But they never take you out more than three or four times. Even I know what three dates normally mean. But you’re not like that. Why aren’t you? Could it be that you just...”

He got lost in his thoughts, babbling like a child that was overwhelmed by the sensations around, but Sherlock was a genius, and he could think faster than he talked, and sometimes he did not have time enough for all the words in the sentence and cut it off mid-way because the next thought was even more brilliant than the former.

He threw his hands in the air, counted how many different men Joan had dated in the last two weeks, and she should probably be annoyed, but all she could think of was the look of his slender fingers when he stretched them out, buried them in his hair and wiped across his worn out and lovely face. She remembered what these hands could do to her, how she shivered under them, how his hair felt between her fingers and what scent had been hiding on his neck that drove her insane. The way his voice sounded when he was whispering in her ear, when he was groaning against her skin and into her mouth.

“Sherlock” she interrupted him.

“What?”

Her hands stretched out almost by themselves; she did not actually want to seduce him or to tempt him to kiss her, she just wanted him to stop.

“Just shut up.” She pulled him down into their doom; she knew this but she wasn’t able to let go of his shirt. She wasn’t able to stop kissing him, and she did not want to do this anyway. It was all too easy; too easy to kiss him, to get lost in his touch when he pulled her close and stripped her. She felt as if he was stripping her down to the bone, until there was nothing left but her body and his body, giving each other so much pain and so much satisfaction neither of them could handle.

Her hands traced well-known paths over his body; they wandered under his shirt to feel the smooth skin and the tensing muscles beyond. A heat wave nearly drowned Joan when she pulled his shirt over his head, her hands fierce but shaking. His jeans and pants followed only some moments later.

 

They were even harsher to each other this time. Joan could feel it even in Sherlock rather tender caresses when he traced his fingers over her spine, from her hips to her shoulder blades, burying them in her hair. She smiled – until he pulled.

“God, Sherlock!” She had screamed it some nights before, but with a different trigger. “Do you want to kill me?” He licked her throat, kissed the soft skin tenderly before moving up to her face and kissing away the tears of pain and surprise that streamed down her face.

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive” he whispered against her lips before he kissed her passionately.

Almost in the same second he thrust into her. She moaned in his mouth, unable to bring out the feeling in her body, this curious mixture of lust and frustration that she felt whenever she was with Sherlock in this way.

Her body tried to come even closer, her back bent until she was sure her spine would break. He caressed her breasts with his hands before hugging her, his arms around her waist and her face at the side of his neck. Her legs went dizzy when she tightened her grip around his hips. Sherlock didn’t complain, but he never did anyway.

It was too much; too much sensations streaming in her veins; too much noise in Joan’s ears when Sherlock breathed against her face, rather moaning than anything else; too much Sherlock in front of her. His smile did not warm her when she caught a glimpse on his face before he buried it in her hair; she was all too hot and a tender smile would have burned her right at the spot. He was still thrusting deep inside her, leaving Joan painful seconds to await his next move, the next thing he would do to her to make her scream.

“God!” Right now, she was screaming before she clenched her teeth together and hissed to keep the outcry of pain inside. He had thrust so deep in her, and this made something dark flash before her eyes; she let out her breath loudly as she collapsed. Splitters of seconds later she felt a sharp pain at her chest. Sherlock had dug his teeth in her skin, and he had not done it very loving. She could almost feel blood in her mouth when she let go of her lower lip. She had not realized how hard she had bitten it.

Oh, it hurt. Not only the mark on her collar bone – it stung and pulsed like he had ripped her open – now, he was dominant, in a position to hurt her. She had stopped to accept this some years ago. She would not be ruled. By nobody. Not even – or especially – by Sherlock Holmes. He had too much power over her, could read in her, turn her inside out and set her together the way he wanted like she was a jigsaw puzzle.

“I’m gonna rip you open” she whispered in his ear before her hands wandered about his back, searching the best point to start. He seemed to frown and wonder for a second but ached in pain when she dug her nails into his warm skin and pulled her hands all over his back. The power she felt streamed through her body; it gave her a kick, the feeling how Sherlock stiffened over her, holding still in pain.

She wanted to kiss him tenderly on his lips, to trace her tongue softly about the scratches on his back, but she just couldn’t do it right now. She wanted to allay his pain, not only that pain which she had brought to him. Everything that had ever happened to him. But she couldn’t. At least not today.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loved to write this, and I'm quite sad that it has reached its end. Hoped you enjoyed reading, I would love to hear your opinion about this.  
> Again huge thanks to Judas, who encouraged me to do this. You rock darling :)
> 
> I wish you all the loveliest of evening and week to have ♥  
> 

No, he did not want to make her enjoy this.

Remember this, yeah, probably…But she wouldn’t go down on him this time.

He would take his time, and he just did not care whether he was driving her mad for this. He just did not like to be hurt. Not by her. Not this way. Yeah, the scratches had almost healed completely, but he still felt them, still knew they were there. He had paid her back for that, and he regretted it right now. His bite mark shone right in his face. He placed his lips on her skin tenderly and tried to apologize with a kiss because he was so bad with words when it came to apologies. Especially when it came to Joan. She was different. He cared for her. He wanted her so bad that his head felt all dizzy and high, but high in a good way. So good.

However, he wanted her to be gentle this time, because that was what he needed right now, what he wanted to show her: That he could be loving and gentle and all un-deducing. He would try, although the impressions all stormed in his brain and tried to get in his mind. But not this time. He stroked her face gently. Her forehead was frowned, and she looked a little disappointed. Yes, he was perfectly aware of what she wanted, and he knew what she wanted to say right before she parted these perfect lips to speak out his name quietly, asking.

“Sherlock…” _No. Not this time_ , he answered silently before he sealed her lips with his mouth to taste the delicate sweetness of her kiss. She was startled by this, as he had never been so gentle. There was no biting of her lower lip, no teeth clashing together because they were too passionate, not even tongue. Just a soft kiss on her lips to make her shut up.

“Don’t” he whispered in a very low voice. She shivered visibly when his breath trembled against her face softly. He would not allow her to ruin this. He simply wouldn’t. No. This was one of the best nights Sherlock had ever had. He was with Joan, and he was happy right now because she looked at him so expecting and puzzled that he had to restrain himself not to kiss her right again.

Not that he thought of their first…encounters as bad or boring. No. Absolutely not. But he had never thought of Joan that she liked it that rough and ruthless. It disappointed him just a little bit: He had always imagined her as some kind of angel, the one that had saved him when he needed someone to care for him although he was completely nuts. There was no dispute about that, just a fact. Sherlock knew that, and he was too pleased when he noticed that Joan did not seem to care. Maybe it was the best day in his life. Ever. Even better than his first trip on drugs. And now it could be the best night of his life.

Sherlock saw the parallels between his appreciation for time and the orbit in which Joan was around.

 

He had gotten her into her bedroom, stealing a soft and promising kiss from her as she was making coffee in the kitchen. Sneaking in behind her, he had embraced her from behind, slung his arms around her slim waist, waiting for her to turn. She looked absolutely bewildered when he took her hand and led her into her own bedroom. He would’ve offered his, but there were experiments going on which would rather destroy any kind of romantic atmosphere.

Sherlock felt her body all over on him, her heated skin and her soft texture clouded his mind with pleasure and madness, her unique scent in his nose and her hair tickling his cheek when he bent his head to caress her skin with his tongue, slowly, softly…Teasing her on purpose to leave her, heavily breathing and waiting for more. He left wet trails on her throat, on her collarbone, on the skin between her breasts, pressing his head to her chest lightly to listen to her fast-beating heart; to calm down in some way.

When he kissed her again she smiled mildly. He replied. This was actually working. Nothing was rough, all was light and playful and so, so loving.

“This is so ridiculous.” He might have been hurt by her words, but he just couldn’t concentrate when she was stroking his body, as easy and light as a feather would’ve touched him, but her touch shattered him down to the bone. She was just a little _too_ good.

“Somebody like you should never fondle me so much. You don’t seem to be the type for romance or candle light or something like that”, she whispered quietly, without looking at him. She tried to hide from him, which was ridiculous, regarding the fact that they were both stripped, they had never been closer. He did not know how to say it – whether he should say it at all. He did not want to ruin this. But in the end, she had to know. It was only fair for her to know.

“Maybe you changed me.” He left her enough space to assume that he was not sure, although that was a lie. He was sure, had been sure since the first day, since her first words. All of the cards which had kept his wishes and dreams in a house burned when she laughed quietly. It hurt so bad, much worse than the scratches on his back, even worse than rehab. He had never felt this before. She met his gaze with unexpected softness when she seemed to see truth in his eyes.

“Oh my god.”

Her words cut through the silence like a knife meant to stab him. He was so freaked out, frightened and totally lost that he did not even know what to reply. He started to breathe when she smiled at him. He had not recognized that he had been holding his breath

Black stars danced in front of his eyes when she caressed him, cupped his face in her small, so important hands and her smile widened right before she kissed him tenderly. Her lips were soft and warm on his, and Sherlock realized that he had not lost her. In contrary: He had gained so much by telling her this, he knew it, and he could tell by the way that she nuzzled against him when they parted in satisfaction and warmth.

“Thank you.”

 

Both Sherlock and Joan never spoke of the first three times they had sex.

They never mentioned them in front of each other.

They kept it silent, forgot all the pain they had caused each other, and forgot everything that happened the nights before.

They liked to think of this tender and loving night as the first time they slept with each other.


End file.
